


Fidelity

by Kisatsel



Series: where we are [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Character Study, F/M, Infidelity, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 05:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel
Summary: Eliza’s letters made a pretty blaze, and a very small pile of ash.





	

Eliza’s letters made a pretty blaze, and a very small pile of ash. After she was done looking at the gray dust sitting in the hearth, and had dried her eyes, she drew up a chair to the desk that sat in the corner of their bedroom, and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Took a sharpened quill and dipped it in ink.

 _My dear Angelica_ , she wrote. She looked down at the neat script.

_You know I adore to hear from you and your letter of the 5th was of great comfort to me. Of course I will wear the handkerchief and no doubt certain Ladies around here will be greatly jealous, or perhaps they will not as you know there are those who hold that over seas fashions are not welcome on our American shores._

_As for us_

Eliza lifted her hand and frowned. She wished Angelica were here, so that words would not be necessary. 

_As for us, Alexander has been tired as have I but the Children are chearfull as ever, Philip in particular, he applies himself to his tasks with a rigor you would approve of._

It was admission enough, and Angelica would read it and understand. As new beginnings went, first pages, it felt wholly inadequate. Back in the first flush of love it had been easy enough to spill her private passions onto the page, worth it a thousand times over for the delight they provoked. The churn inside her now would not be extracted so easily. 

She set her teeth, scratched out _Your Affectionate Sister, Eliza Hamilton_. When the ink was dry she would fold it into crisp quarters, seal it in an envelope and send it out across the ocean to the sister who loved her most of all, a talisman against the despair that now buffeted her, sent her wailing and raging and snatched her usual joys away from her. 

If Eliza’s pen could not build palaces, cathedrals, countries, if her greatest eloquence lay in silence, she could at least send a signal to another person. She could stand on the shoreline and wave and the ribbon in her hand, fluttering in the breeze, would be seen. 

\---

After a week, she went to his office and told him the conditions under which his return to the house would be acceptable. They reached an agreement, and fell back into the easy grooves of married life. In many ways it was like before, but his absences, which she had used to fret over, were now a relief. 

Though Alexander was a penitent these days, he could be roused to anger occasionally. The trip he’d missed, their summer break, was a sore they both poked at now and again. 

“Angelica’s coming to see us,” she informed him. “I hope you won’t be so busy with work as to miss her this time.” 

His patience must have been short; he’d surprised her by scoffing instead of his usual embarrassed mumble. “Will it be as you planned it last summer? What need have we for passing laws when I could be basking in the sun, flirting with your sister under your watchful eye.”

She laughed. “Don't pretend you didn't long to be there, flirting with my sister while I kept an eye on you.”

“And which is my crime: that I wasn't there, or that I wanted it? Or perhaps it is both.”

“Neither. Your crime concerns another woman entirely, and you have been so gracious as to spell out the particulars, lest it should slip from the mind.”

He had nothing to say to that. For the most part, an uneasy silence reigned. 

Eliza, when she thought of the wretched creature who had diverted a sizeable chunk of Alexander’s limited income on its intended journey to feed and clothe Eliza’s brood of children ( _and they are his children too_ , she reminded herself, _whom you and he adore_ ) felt little rancour, and a great deal of pity. Circumstances force us into versions of ourselves we do not much like. 

_I am not clever, but I am kind_ , she had often told herself; for a middle sister, it had been a necessary distinction. Now that she had cause to doubt this, another truth had settled into place. _I am not kind, but I am strong_. 

During those nights when Eliza had stayed up late transcribing Alexander’s words, when his hands shook but his voice held firm, she had been pleased to assist him in this way. My aide de camp, he’d called her, and perhaps he did still believe he was at war even after all this time. When her hands and back and feet were sore from holding the quill he eased the tension out for her, careful and sure. 

They served each other, she had thought, but Alexander served only his hunger, and she had served it too, until it laid waste to them.

During the day he avoided her. When necessity carried him to the kitchen or the parlour he walked stiffly past, and did not meet her eyes. 

He tried to make amends, approaching her periodically with handfuls of apologies and promises: “I’m yours,” beseeching, his desperation quite unfeigned. 

Eliza felt a stab of possessive rage. “You don't know what those words mean,” she told him. Hurt flashed over his features. 

He sank to his knees gracefully and fixed his eyes on the toes of her slippers, awaiting judgement.

“Did you kneel for her?”

Alexander lifted his chin. “No. I took her over the table. It's different with you, my love, can you not see that I respect you ardently - Let me show you.”

“Ah. All this was a demonstration of respect.” Eliza watched him. “Why,” she said coldly, “would I wish to see you abase yourself again.”

He stood, then, turned, and left, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Eliza crossed the room and closed it gently. She felt it sitting in her stomach, the strange and unpleasant thrill of being wanted by a man, and knowing that you could not freely give him the thing he desired.

That night he crawled into bed late, thinking her asleep. She breathed slow and deep until Alexander began to snore and then rolled over, close enough to feel his breath ghosting over her face and rooted inescapably in the life she had made. 

The children, they had the children. She told herself she did not wish for gowns and slaves and finery, as Angelica did. A homespun wife in spirit, though she dressed herself nicely enough.

Eliza had no loom but she liked to imagine it, when the curtains were drawn and the room was dark and a body dipped the bed beside her, pictured weaving herself from a skein of wool: each day a new row, each one like the last, pushing steady on the pedal. 

Her husband was the darker thread that lay alongside hers, and each day she stitched him into herself, hurting, hoping he never ran out.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved! I'm kiwisatsuma on tumblr.


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